Page 7 of Moros

I watched the establishment for a while, people coming and going, mostly young couples. They were wrapped into each others’ arms, obviously still in their honeymoon phase.

I scoffed.

The fact love wasn’t real hadn’t kicked them in the dick yet.

Give it time.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there on my cycle before I set my helmet on the belly and climbed off. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I wandered across the lot and stepped through the door, half expecting a loud clang as the door fell off its hinges again.

It didn’t and I exhaled and faced forward while removing my hoodie.

No one greeted me—I stopped a passing waitress.

“I’m looking for Miss Ryanne.” I told her.

“Miss?” She chuckled, allowing her eyes to roam me up and down.

I hated it when women did that to me.

“So proper, Sugar.” She muttered. “If you’re looking for a Miss, this ain’t the joint.”

“Is she here or not?”

I never had the patience for this kind of woman.

“Wait here.” She snapped and stormed off.

Dragging my palms along my thighs I took a seat in a corner booth and waited.

For the length of time I sat there, I couldn’t ever remember being so unsure about anything in my life. It didn’t make sense I came here to give her closure or whatever the fuck this was.

It wasn’t something for me—I couldn’t care less if she was settled with our encounter or not.

“What’s the difference between hungry and horny?” The man in the booth next to me asked.

The woman sitting across from him didn’t look impressed with the question.

By the way she was pushing her food around on her plate and refused to touch her drink, I would say it was a first date—and it wasn’t going so well.

“I don’t know.” She sighed, placing her fork on her plate.

“Where you put the cucumber.” The man chortled.

The woman picked up her drink, grabbed her purse and stood. She chucked the contents from her frosted glass into his face and slipped out from behind the booth.

“Pig.” She snapped. “You’ve been an absolute asshole this entire date. Don’t ever call me again.”

As she tried leaving, he grabbed her arm, and my back went up.

But I didn’t have to worry.

The waitress from earlier was passing with a pot of steaming coffee. The pissed off woman yanked the pot from the passing tray and dumped the boiling contents into the man’s lap.

“The next time you think of putting your hands on a woman.” She barked, dropping the pot into his lap as well. “Think twice.”

She then dropped money on the tray to pay for the coffee and I was assuming the coffeepot then stormed out.

I couldn’t help smiling.

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